Range War (9781101559215) by C. J. Cherryh

said. “Why, he hates sheepmen worse than he hates Apaches, and it was an Apache that killed his grandpa.”
    Alejandro bristled and declared, “That is fine, gringo, because we hate your kind as much as you hate us.”
    â€œYou’re not helping matters,” Fargo said.
    â€œThe thing you need to decide,” Shorty told him, “is which side you’ll throw in with. Because I can tell you now that if you’re friendly with these sheepers, Mr. Trask won’t like it. He’s liable to have us do to you as he’ll have us do to them.”
    â€œWhich is what, exactly?”
    â€œYou need to ask?” Shorty said, and laughed. “When Mr. Trask gives the word, we’ll drive them out. Drive you out, too, if you’re in their camp.”
    â€œThis valley is big enough for the two sides to share.”
    â€œHell, mister. The whole blamed world ain’t big enough for cows and sheep to mix. Sheep are locusts on the hoof and there’s only one way to control locusts.”
    â€œDo me a favor,” Fargo said. “Ask Trask not to act until he talks to me.”
    Shorty snorted. “I can ask him, sure, but I can’t guarantee he’ll agree. And even if he does, talkin’ won’t do you a lick of good. He has his mind made up.”
    â€œAny word on when he’ll get here?”
    â€œSoon,” Shorty said. He raised his reins. “Enough palaver. Now that this peckerwood knows I’m here, I might as well light a shuck.”
    â€œYes, run,” Alejandro said, “or my amigos and I will drag you from that horse and break every bone in your body.”
    Shorty leaned down, his smile ice. “I can tell you this, wool man. When the killin’ does start, it’ll be a pleasure to blow out your wick.”
    â€œI dare you to try!” Alejandro exclaimed.
    For a moment Fargo thought Shorty would draw but all the short puncher did was grunt in disgust and rein around. “Be seein’ you, Fargo. Better make up your mind quick. And make it up right. Mr. Trask wants you gone or dead, I’ll be first in line to get the job done.” He jabbed his spurs.
    Alejandro pumped a fist and swore in Spanish.
    â€œThat was stupid,” Fargo said.
    â€œYou heard him,” Alejandro hissed. “They hate us. They want us dead. And the feeling is mutual.”
    Fargo sighed.
    â€œNothing you say or do can stop our revenge. If you think it can, you might as well get on your horse and leave Hermanos Valley.”
    Fargo was commencing to think he should, at that. Only he’d given his word to Porfiro. And then there was Delicia. “Get on your horse.”
    â€œMi rifle, por favor?” Alejandro requested, holding out his hand.
    â€œWhen that cowpoke is out of range and not before.”
    â€œYou call me estúpido ,” Alejandro said, “but you are a fool.”
    Neither of them uttered another word until they reached the wagons. By then Shorty was long out of sight. Fargo tossed the Sharps to Alejandro, who glowered at him and went to join a group of young sheepherders huddled by a fire.
    Fargo tied the Ovaro behind Porfiro’s wagon. He walked around the corner and nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
    â€œI saw you ride up,” Delicia said. “How did it go? Or do I even need to ask?”
    â€œSpent half the day riding all over creation,” Fargo said, “and didn’t accomplish a damn thing.”
    â€œAlejandro doesn’t look happy.”
    â€œThat’s putting it mildly.”
    Delicia clasped her hands and smiled demurely. “Would you like some coffee?”
    â€œIf it includes your company,” Fargo said.
    â€œDo not let it go to your head,” she remarked as they strolled to a fire, “but I have been thinking about you all morning.”
    â€œYou don’t say.”
    Delicia glanced about as if to ensure she couldn’t be